Patrick had spent nearly ten years in the military; getting dressed in front of an audience wasn’t anything unusual. The guard undid his handcuffs and oversaw Patrick getting dressed to impress, since that was the only reason he could think of why Danai had delivered him a suit.
Getting processed out of the jail for transport for the courthouse didn’t take long. Apparently being high-profile meant the correctional officers had to keep to the schedule. Patrick left under guard, wearing a bulletproof vest over his suit jacket, which he thought was laughable. If Ethan wanted him dead, it would be by way of magic, not something as pedestrian as a gun.
Following protocol, every officer escorting him to the courthouse was a magic user. Even through his shields and the spelled bracelets, he could recognize what they were. Passive magic sometimes wasn’t strong enough to trigger a spell, and the soul wound he carried wasn’t something that could be blocked.
Patrick stared at a spot between the two officers on the opposite bench in the transport van, wondering how long it would take to get to the courthouse. He hadn’t eaten much breakfast, and what food he’d managed to swallow sat like a rock in his stomach. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and beaded at his hairline.
The van eventually slowed to a halt, and Patrick held still as one of the officers undid the chain that connected his handcuffs to the floor. The van doors opened, and Patrick exited like a criminal beneath the flashes of dozens of cameras and countless shouted questions from a crowd of reporters. He kept his face impassive in front of the prying media, trying his best to ignore the fear eating at the back of his mind at being the center of attention in public.
Patrick had spent over two decades hiding in one way or another—under a new name, in a uniform, and behind a badge. Getting marched into the courthouse beneath a sea of cameras went a long way toward negating all of that, and he wondered if that was the point, if this was what Ethan wanted.
All their family’s dirty secrets dragged into the open for all the world to see.
The cacophony of voices faded once Patrick entered the courthouse. The police with him led him around the security check and through the halls. Patrick kept his gaze focused straight ahead and not on the attorneys, clients, and court staff present for other cases being held that day.
“In here,” one of the officers said when they finally reached a set of doors on the fifth floor.
A pair of FBI agents stood guard outside the courtroom. Patrick flexed his fingers as one of the doors was opened, and a police officer went in ahead of them.
The first thing Patrick noticed upon entering the courtroom was his pack. Jono, Sage, and Wade had claimed the bench behind the defendant’s table, where Danai sat. With them was Marek, but Patrick didn’t see Emma or Leon. The four of them were on their feet and staring right at him as Patrick walked down the aisle. A curl of shame ran hot through his chest at them seeing him like this, but he couldn’t change the situation.
“All right?” Jono asked him as Patrick passed their bench.
With the police between them, Jono didn’t try to reach for him, not that Patrick was in any position to receive comfort. “Been better.”
“This is bullshit,” Wade muttered, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
Patrick held still as an officer unlocked his handcuffs but not the spelled bracelets. He let the officer unstrap the bulletproof vest, and Patrick shrugged out of it, tugging at his suit jacket to try to get rid of some of the wrinkles.
He scanned the courtroom, taking in the atypical number of police and federal agents present—some SOA, the majority FBI—and Estelle sitting on the bench behind the prosecutor’s table with Nicholas and several other members of her pack. He’d missed them on the walk in, too focused on Jono and the others. All of them carried demons in their souls except for Estelle, and he wondered about that discrepancy and what it meant.
“Don’t look at her,” Jono said, breaking Patrick’s concentration. “She’s not worth your time.”
Patrick wrenched his gaze away from Estelle and back to the people who mattered. Jono smiled tightly, rage embedded in the corners of his mouth, but the love in his eyes was what shored Patrick up. The distance between them wasn’t much, but the police officer not part of the court staff situated near the defendant’s table was a silent warning for Patrick not to get close to his pack.
He wanted to, badly, but Danai settled her hand on his shoulder. Patrick turned to face her, eyeing the stack of paper situated near an open black binder full of tabs and documents.
“I didn’t think my case had generated that much paperwork so far,” Patrick said as he sat down.
“I have your copy in my briefcase. You’ll be allowed to take it with you.”
“Back to jail?”
“That’s not what we’re aiming for.”
The bailiff exited the door leading to the judge’s chambers right then, drawing everyone’s attention. “All rise for the Honorable Talibah Mohamed.”
Patrick stood, along with everyone else who was seated. As the woman in her long black judge’s robes exited her chambers, Patrick was hit with the crackle of ozone—electric, immortal power that cut through his shields and the spells keeping his magic in check for a split second. A god’s power would always be stronger than any spell a mortal could cast, and it was like a sucker punch to the gut as the immortal judge walked into the courtroom.
Patrick heard Jono suck in a breath but otherwise didn’t say anything as the judge stepped up to her bench. She was a slim woman with medium-brown skin, a sharply featured face, and black hair that tumbled past her shoulders in thick waves. She looked young to be presiding over such a prestigious court, but Patrick knew anything was possible when gods were in the mix.
He just didn’t know which god, which side of this damn war, was sitting on the bench, prepared to rule over his life.
“You may be seated,” the god masquerading as Judge Mohamed announced in a voice that rang through the courtroom.
Patrick would’ve sat, except Danai touched his elbow and subtly shook her head. He remained standing, as did the US attorneys.
“Criminal cause for arraignment in the United States of America versus Patrick Collins,” the clerk said before rattling off a string of letters and numbers for the case number. “Counsel, please state your appearances.”
